


Izmeneniye

by treasure (hookedswan)



Series: Anastasia Viktorovna Katsuki-Nikiforova [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adoption, Anastasia Katsuki-Nikiforova, Bilingual Character(s), Bullying, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Friendship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Immigration & Emigration, Kid Fic, M/M, Moving, Sort Of, and move to america, but theyre gay so obviously there was adoption involved sis, it doesnt get into it and it isnt really implied, they have a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookedswan/pseuds/treasure
Summary: So, on a rainy day, after 14 year old Anastasia Viktorovna Katsuki-Nikiforova climbed into the back of their Mercedes-Benz, Viktor, in the drivers seat, spoke, “We’re moving.”“Vitya!” Yuuri shrieked, “you don’t just say that without any build-up!”“Sorry! I panicked!”xViktor and Yuuri hava a kid that gets bullied by little fucks at school, so they move to America!





	Izmeneniye

**Author's Note:**

> Title means "change" in Russian. Culture note: In Russia, people don't have middle names, they have patronymics, which is like a middle name, but it's typically a form of the father's name. It's basically law for a Russian child to have one. Anastasia's is Viktorovna. Another thing to note that I don't see nearly enough in fics, is that Russian females have feminine last names. The feminine form of Nikiforov is Nikiforova. Ie: Ivanov/Ivanova Medvedev/Medvedeva Baranovskay/Baranovskaya. 
> 
> One more thing: look, I can't with timelines. I'm going to ignore logic and say that this fic takes place in 2017 and just forget about the fact that Viktor and Yuuri met in 2016. I'm going to try my 100% hardest to not mention dates, as I'm sure there's a lot of people that will get bothered by it. But I have 0 idea what the world will be like in like 2030, but I do know what it's like now & in 2017. 
> 
> I lied, ONE more thing. I wrote a series similar to this a few months ago, but I deleted it. So, I’m trying again. 
> 
> Enjoy thots

In early April, Viktor and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov had gotten fed up. Fed up with their beloved Anastasia crying after school, fed up with her begging to move back to Japan, fed up with students at her private school teasing her ruthlessly. Every time she tearfully buckled her seat belt in one of their cars, it tore them apart just a little more. “ _Pozhaluysta, papochka.” Please, papa._ Anastasia had been asking them for about a year. “ _Ya khochu vernut’sya v Yaponiyu.” I want to go back to Japan._ Everyday it’d be a new reason. _I have friends there_. _I miss Jiji and Baba. It’s warm there. There’s space for Kiyoshi to run around.  
_

“Vitya,” it was a rainy Tuesday. Anastasia was practicing axels on the ice in front of them. “Yes?”  


“I think we should consider moving to Hasetsu. Nastyusha’s miserable here.” Yuuri rubbed his husband’s arm softly. “What? We can’t up and leave. Anastasia _just_ won Worlds.  She’s making her senior debut in three months! We don’t have time.”  


“Ok, but Vitya, I’m sure she’d skate a lot better if she was happier. If we work hard enough, we can move within the next few weeks.”

“Are we really thinking about moving out blonde Russian daughter to Japan to _stop_ bullying? She’d stick out like a sore thumb! She’d have to dye her hair black, and she _loves_ her hair.” Viktor pouted.  


“Then what do _you_ suggest? I’m sick of her coming home crying about homophobic and racist little fuckers.” His irritation level was raising rapidly.  


“What about Ukraine? She could have Ukrainian down in two months flat.”

“I’m not learning another language.” Yuuri’s face fell flat.

“Kazakhstan speaks Ru--”

“Let me stop you right there.” Yurri sighed, “what about America? Anastasia’s English has been improving.”

“On one condition,” Viktor sighed as well.

Yuuri raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“We aren’t moving to Detroit. It’s too cold. If we’re moving to another country, we’re moving somewhere warm.”

“Deal.”  


Over the next few days, they’d obsessively searched for houses in California, Nevada, Florida, and New Mexico. After about a week, they’d settled on a section of Miami with big pretty houses. After finding a house that they’d contact an agent about, Yuuri petitioned for family based immigration for his spouse and daughter. 

 

So, on a rainy day, after 14 year old Anastasia Viktorovna Katsuki-Nikiforova climbed into the back of their Mercedes-Benz, Viktor, in the drivers seat, spoke, “We’re moving.”

“Vitya!” Yuuri shrieked, “you don’t just _say_ that without any build-up!”  


“Sorry! I panicked!”

“Can you guys speak slower? You know I can’t follow English very well.” Anastasia spoke out for the first time since she entered the vehicle. The conversation shifted to Russian. “We’re moving. To the United States. I’m sorry we couldn’t go to Japan, but--” Anastasia cut him off.

“Really?! We’re moving!? Oh my _God_! I’m so excited! I need to go pack, I ha--” Yuuri cut her off this time. “Nastyusha. We’ve only gotten approved for interviews. The three of us are taking a flight to Moscow next week. There’s no guarantee that we’re moving.  We’ll find our if you two are approved for immigrant visas then. Don’t go telling people until it’s official.” He was calm and collected.  


Completely ignoring what he said, she spoke, “so, where are we moving?”

Viktor’s face lit up, “Well, Tou-san and I found a  _stunning_ house with a pool and big pretty staircases in Miami! It’s on the beach!”  


Yuuri laughed, “Vitya, it’s waterfront, not on the beach.”

“Ooh!” Viktor’s face was cloaked in realization, “Yura! The house next to ours!"

“Not ours yet,” Yuuri was amused to say the least.

“It’s for sale, too! I should see if Christophe and Matsumi are interested!” Viktor was grinning and giggling. Yuuri was mildly worried he’d crash their car.

At that idea, Anastasia screeched. “Please do, papochka! Please, please, please! I haven’t seen  L é onie since Worlds and if we lived next door I would  _cry_ . Please.”  


L é onie Giacometti had been Anastasia’s best friend since  _birth_ . When Anastasia was born shortly after Viktor and Yuuri’s marriage, Christophe had had L é onie with Matsumi. Half because of his love for children, half because of the fact him and Viktor’s kids would be best friends.  


“I’ll text him the second we get home!”

 

The interviews came fast. They were interviewed separately, both accompanied by Yuuri. They were asked questions about income, jobs, housing, things like that. At the end of Anastasia’s interview, she was told that she was approved and would receive her immigrant visa in the mail within the next few weeks. Yuuri wanted to cry, he was so happy for his daughter. She’d have a better life in America. When the man at the U.S. Embassy interviewed Viktor, Yuuri was nervous. While Anastasia was viewed as basic royalty in Russia due to her financial status and figure skating skills, Viktor hadn’t been in competitions since she was born, which made Yuuri nervous. That, and the fact that he was gay with a husband. They had to pull a lot of strings to be able to have Anastasian be recognized as their daughter by the government.

But, alas, at the end of the interview, Viktor was told the same thing, that he’d be moving to the United States within the next few months.

Over the next few weeks they’d bought new suitcases, “ _but Yura,_ look _at the_ _Prada set, we need them, right Anastasia?” “Yes, papochka.”_ They got boxes to pack their stuff up in, bought new furniture, contacted the agent about the house, got vaccines, contacted schools in the area, vut ties with their current insurance agencies, had their cars shipped overseas, etc. 

 

The day they took their flight was June 17 th .    


 

Entering their new house, they saw that the workers they’d hired to set up some of their new furniture had done just that. It was around 11 pm when they got to the house. Anastasia’d ripped open a box labeled SATIN SHEETS  to make sure they were her red sheets and blankets with Chinese dragon designs on them. “Soooo, which one’s my room?” She grinned tiredly,  lifting the large box .  


“Come on, I’ll show you.” Yuuri walked her up the staircase with the glass railings and into the white room with a queen sized matress on a stylish bed frame. All that was in the room with that was a night stand. Luckily, the movers followed their instructions. “Come, on, I’ll help you make your bed.” Yuuri took the box and placed it on the ground, pulling blankets out.  


 

Before they went to bed that night, Yuuri and Viktor had done some basic things, like move boxes into the rooms they were meant for, unpacked their laptops and phones, (which were bothe basically useless as they didn’t have phone service in Miami yet, nor did they have WiFi.

Collapsing into their freshly made bed, Viktor and Yuuri snuggled up and fell off to sleep.

 

The following morning, the internet man came to set up their connection. During that, Viktor had driven to a service provider store and gotten their phones turned on, (which proved to be a lot harder than anticipated, as their phones came from Russian providers.) Yuuri brought Anastasia to a Mediterranean restaurant on the beach.

“Sooo, Tou-san,” she started, swallowing her mejadra, “I’m thinking we go get my nails done after this, thoughts?” She spoke in English, only half-joking.  


“Please, Papa would _murder_ me if we went to a salon without him.”  


“And? My nails are three weeks old, and I need a new set. New country, new nails, Tou-san.” She spoke in a persuasive voice.

“What salon?” He sighed.

She began babbling about a salon about a half hour away and how she  _loved_ their nails.  
  
  


Three hours later, they left, Anastasia having gotten red nails with gems, her eyebrows done, and gotten her hair trimmed. Soon after they left, they went to go buy things for the new house. Shampoos, conditioners, kitchenware (a few new pairs of chopsticks and a set of glasses), curtains, and more.

“I like this one.” Anastasia picked up an overly expensive Ralph Lauren bathrobe. She dropped it into the overly stuffed cart. “Nastyusha, we’re buying _towels_ right now, I’m not getting you a bathrobe.”  


Ignoring what he said, she kept looking at robes, “that’s  _hideous_ ! I hate plaid, Burberry’s disgusting!” She pointed to a robe. “It’s also two-thousand dollars.” Yuuri’s face contorted with disgust once he saw the price tag. While Viktor and Anastasia had extremely expensive tastes, always buying luxury clothes and refusing to shop at department stores, Yuuri was far, far more reserved with money.  


“Ooh, You-san, you should get _this_ one!” She snatched another designer robe off of a rack and held it up to Yuuri. Once she determined it would look good on him, she threw it into the cart.  


“How about we go look at clothing hangers? You need some.” Yuuri directed Anastasia to another aisle.  


“Ooooor, we can go look at _actual_ clothes and I can get some shorts?” She began directing _him_ towards the clothes.  


“After.” He placed a few sets of velvet hangers into the cart. “Should we get a shower caddy?” He turned to his daughter.

“I don’t know what that means.” Anastasia sighed.

“It’s like a holder for stuff in the shower.” Yuuri motioned a rough shape with his hands.

“Oooohhhh. Sure. But judging by the hangers you picked out, I get to pick out the thing.”

Anastasia picked up a large caddy in a box that looked more like a nightstand. “No! That’s too big!” Yuuri put it back. “No it’s not. Your shower is  _huge_ !  _And_ its colors match this. We’re getting it. Aaaaaand I’ll get.. this one.” She put a smaller, marble caddy on the bottom part of the cart along with the other one.  


“Now, to the clothes.”

 

They’d left the house for lunch around noon, and had come back around seven, which was  _much_ longer than Yuuri had wanted to be out for. Yuuri, with the countless bags hanging from his arms, opened the front doo r to the house and roughly dropped them down in the foyer. Anastasia followed not far behind with her own bags. “We’re hoooome!” She called out.  


“Nastyusha!” Came a muffled call from upstairs. Down rushed Vikor with open arms, embracing his husband and daughter. “We went shopping, Papa!” Anastasia grinned.

“Without me?!” His face fell.

“Anastasia _insisted_ we go. We bought everything we need, from small furnishings to red wine.” Yuuri left the house to grab the boxes.  


 

That night, Anastasia set up her room some more. Unboxing some more of her clothes, organizing her zillions of shoes, setting up her new caddy, putting her toiletries away, logging into the family Netflix account on her TV, charging her phone and laptop, and all of the  other major things.  


She and her parents ate takeout from a Cuban place for dinner and watched a movie.  


As Anastasia went to bed, after her first day in America, she sighed happily, as this would be a better life with more opportunities and more chances.

 

x

**Author's Note:**

> Should I write a sequel? I don’t know, haha. I have a lot more ideas. Comment?


End file.
